


Simply Human

by heoneyology



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Catboy Lee Juyeon (The Boyz), F/M, Fluff, Gen, Magic, One Shot, Shapeshifting, Slice of Life, Warlock Lee Juyeon (The Boyz)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27523090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heoneyology/pseuds/heoneyology
Summary: Lee Juyeon is possibly one of the most eligible bachelors in town—his looks being favored by everyone who lays their eyes on him—but he has one thing working against him: He’s a warlock. In the city, those who practice magic are just thought of as normal, everyday people. But in smaller towns, they’re thought of as bad luck and archaic. It’s a bias that you’ll never quite understand, and thus you watch the handsome boy who visits the coffee shop you work at daily, admiring him from afar. You’d never have guessed he was leading a quiet double life…
Relationships: Lee Juyeon (The Boyz)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Simply Human

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Cat and the Key](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/712429) by keuhkopussirotta (tumblr user). 



A deep sigh falls past your lips, one that seems to come straight from the depths of your chest—maybe even deeper. It holds something that words can’t quite express; stresses, longing, and a confusion you aren’t sure how to work past. Next to you, the black cat who is just an arm’s length away stirs. It peeps one eye open as your breath travels through the blades of grass, passing through before ghosting over the cat’s fur. It _tickles_ , and felines don’t much like things that tickle.

You’d been watching the cat this entire time, so when it cracks a single amber eye open to fixate on you, you suck in the breath you’d just let out, freezing in place. _Waiting_ , wondering. Had you somehow deterred away your latest friend and most recent confidant?

“Sorry,” you whisper to the cat, wondering if that will somehow remedy the situation.

The cat’s ears flicker in response, and that single amber eye closes.

You’d dealt with many cats before that. For many, as soon as you even so much as had your fingertips graze their fur the wrong way, they’d go scurrying off. Some even liked to lash out. This cat, however, was a curious little fellow—you were fairly certain it was a _fellow_ —it liked to lay just out of your reach, near you, whenever you came to sit underneath the maple tree in the warm afternoons; on days when the sun was just peaking at its highest before dipping down below the horizon. Now that autumn was in full force, days were growing shorter and the warmth which you sought by the sun and the maple—a space to think freely and escape your worries—was also growing shorter as the chill of the oncoming winter began to set in earlier and earlier each day.

The cat seemed to have the same idea as you, seeking out the tree for afternoon naps and letting you rant your heart away. Somehow, it almost seemed as if the feline was listening to you—but not just listening, _understanding_ , as well. The little black feline would fix you with a gaze that was so deep and knowing, you sometimes felt as if you were oversharing. Whenever the cat met your eyes, you could feel your heart seize up in your chest; the idea of the creature somehow understanding what you were saying causing you to panic and double back, wondering if your thoughts were safe with the little cat.

But the comfort the cat brought was something that couldn’t be matched by the company of your friends and family. It was nice to have someone to just talk to and listen, someone that didn’t reply all the time. Even if that _someone_ wasn’t exactly a human. Even if that someone happened to have some human-like personality traits that left you wondering. Cats were intelligent, though, so you never found yourself questioning it too much.

After some time, you push yourself up into a sitting position from where you lay on your side in the grass, letting out another long sigh. This time, your breath doesn’t even so much as reach the cat. However, your presence shifting causes the small animal to stir, letting out a _‘mrrmph’_ and stretching out of the ball it had been curled into, rolling over onto its side. The cat lazily blinks up at you, before licking a paw and swiping it over its face, repeating the action and grooming itself.

“This is why my mom told me not to move away to a small town like this. She called me a romantic for trying to follow my dreams—be a writer, live in a cozy space unknown to the world and basically off the grid.” Instead of sighing, you scoff this time. “Little did she know I’d actually _become_ a romantic and fall in love with someone who doesn’t even know I exist… or maybe she did know. Moms seem to somehow know everything…”

You groan, letting your face fall into your hands. “I can’t believe I _spilled_ that all over him this morning—I don’t even want to go to work tomorrow.”

Before one emotion can even settle, you’re letting out another groan and falling back into the grass again. You hit the ground with a slight _thud_. Next to you, the cat startles in surprise, but doesn’t move.

“I have to be up for seven… I have to open the shop… _ugh_ I hate opening shifts, that’s too early. We saw what happened today! I didn’t even get enough sleep and then that disaster unfolded!”

From next to you, the cat watches as you work through your turmoil of thoughts and emotions for the third time since coming to the maple tree. Before one can settle, another begins, and so your distraught cycle repeats itself yet again. The cat had already heard the story, about how you’d gotten next to no sleep last night—finally finding a strike of muse and mistakenly staying up until almost four in the morning to write the wave out—and had to open the coffee shop at which you work at seven on the dot that same morning. Your crush, the one and only Lee Juyeon—a noteworthy bachelor in town whose presence wasn’t very welcomed, though his looks were practically revered—had entered the shop. Amidst your foggy, sleep-deprived state, you’d clumsily perfected his order, then proceeded to spill it down the front of his clothes.

It was a minor mishap. It wasn’t something that happened often, but it wasn’t something that one should trouble themselves over this much. Although, of course, one had to consider the fact that Juyeon being dashingly handsome, with strong features and a soft smile; as well as being your crush, were added factors that had to be considered in the equation.

The cat still found it ridiculous, as cats often do of human matters.

You push yourself into a sitting position again, with a bit more determination in your shoulders this time. The cat barely pauses its grooming session as you turn to address it, despite not needing to. “I need to go. I need to get some sleep before work tomorrow.”

Despite knowing that the outcome will be futile, you reach out slowly and attempt to stroke the cat with the back of your hand, as a final goodbye before the two of you meet again. But this time, the cat reacts to your proximity—instantaneously cutting its grooming session short by jumping to its feet and away from you. The feline cuts you a look, giving itself a shake, before it trots off.

It had been two weeks now, so you had been hopeful something had changed between you and the cat. But, _cats were fickle creatures_ , and although your feline friend proved to be a good confidant and equally welcomed your silent company—that’s all it wanted at the moment, was some company. A part of you wondered if something kept the cat from being friendlier, even after you’d proven you weren’t going to push or rush any affection received, such as a trauma or unpleasant experience. You weren’t too certain that was the case, though, considering the cat wasn’t wary or scared—just indifferent.

“Get home safe,” is your last goodbye to the cat, spoken into the emptiness around you which is only broken up by the evening breeze whistling through the autumn leaves.

* * *

Thankfully, you get enough sleep that night. When you get home, the tiredness hits you like a giant wave, and there’s not even an ounce of temptation to continue your writing as there had been the night before. When the next day arrives, you’re much more bright-eyed and alert. Opening the coffee shop goes smooth, as does the passing of the first few customers you have.

After the first hour of being open, like clockwork, Juyeon walks through the door of the little cafe at eight. And, like clockwork, your coworker lets out a grunt under their breath and nudges you with their elbow.

“Can you take over the cash register?”

You frown, studying them, then glancing back at Juyeon as he slowly nears the counter. A few guests cut him unfriendly looks, others stare in awe. You should be used to this, by now, but you aren’t. Growing up in the city, you hadn’t realized what kind of bias there would be in smaller, more rural areas for Juyeon’s _kind_ —as those around here called it. He practiced magic, which in the city was a common occurrence. Being so populated, it was easy to pass someone by and not really know whether they were a witch or a warlock. They were just simply _human_.

But here, it was like some sort of blight. Where witches and warlocks were far and few between, it was misunderstood, and thus not welcomed. People didn’t like change, or that which they didn’t understand.

_If only people could be more like cats_ —indifferent to those things that surrounded them which caused no harm, despite how different it might be.

Your coworker hadn’t waited for your answer, disappearing, and you have no choice but to take over the cash register. Despite the repeated normalcy of this specific situation, it’s still something you really don’t think you’ll ever get used to.

Juyeon stops in front of the counter and studies the menu above, just as you step forward and wish him a good morning. He glances down at you, gives a small smile, and then glances back up at the menu. He’s been here enough times since you’d moved to town that you know he’ll order the same thing he gets every day. For some reason, though, he still likes to idle a bit and study the menu. Maybe because there’s seasonal flavors to consider trying, despite always defaulting to the comfort pick. Or maybe he’s buffering his mind for the day—a sentiment you felt you could relate to.

“Can I get my usual?” Juyeon asks, pulling his eyes away from the menu with another smile.

You return his smile, nodding. “Of course.”

Although you try to stay calm, you can hear your heart beating much too loudly in your chest, replaying the events from the day before in your head. You try not to outwardly cringe as the scene from yesterday replays itself in your mind; then try further to shut the memories out, though not visibly show your internal struggle—choosing to focus instead on the fact that despite not being weary-eyed that morning, your hand is shaking as you lift it to the register to punch in Juyeon’s order, and you need to make it _stop._

It’s something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the regular customer, though you aren’t aware that he even does notice until you’re serving him his coffee. Your coworker has conveniently cooped themselves up in the back to clean and stock. That leaves you left alone to prepare Juyeon’s drink, and you’re grateful there isn’t a rush at that moment.

When you step up to the counter to call out his name and hand over the drink, you’re straining your arm to keep your hand from shaking too badly—paranoid over a repeat from yesterday. As he takes his drink with a smile and a thank you, his fingers brush over yours. You glance up in surprise at him, wondering if he even noticed the skin contact. 

Meeting his gaze, you’re aware that he _is,_ in fact, aware of what has happened. He softens his smile—if that’s even possible. His sharp features are always the softest when he comes in during the mornings and hands out smiles to the people around him. Despite the stark contrast of how the townsfolk treat Juyeon in comparison to how he treats them, you’ve never once seen the smile on his face falter.

“You don’t have to be nervous about yesterday,” he states kindly. “Accidents happen. Stop shaking so badly out of nerves, or you’ll really end up spilling my coffee again.”

A flush immediately over takes your face, and you pull your hand back like the snap of a rubber band—luckily Juyeon already has hold of his drink, or it would have come crashing down to the counter below.

“S-s-s-sorry— I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, I’m only joking. Like I said, accidents happen, and clothes can be washed,” Juyeon chuckles. You swear the sound makes your heart seize up in your chest—but it’s a different kind of seize than the feeling your secret cat makes you feel. This feeling is one that makes time seem to stop moving itself; his soft laugh something akin to a toll bell—not quite high pitched enough to be a bell, but not deep enough to be something else. 

“Although if you spilled drink on me two days in a row, I’d probably need you to join me for coffee at some point in order to make up for all the dry cleaning,” the joke falls from Juyeon’s lips with ease—and you can only stare at him in surprise as he offers you one last smile and makes his way to a corner of the coffee shop near the window, as he does every day.

_Did… he just flirt?_

You shake your head at the absurdity of the thought, though the rest of your work day is spent in a trance. Even when there is a callout halfway through your shift, just a few hours away before your freedom from work—you barely react. It’s just a hiccup, even if it means you’ll be working five hours extra. Juyeon’s words idly trail through your mind, enough to keep you in a daze. Luckily, despite your mind being focused elsewhere, nothing is spilled or broken that day and you make it through the shift safely; save for a few moments of tripping over your own two feet.

When closing time rolls around, you finally start to feel all the work of the day _and_ your clumsiness in those same two feet. You’re practically dragging yourself over the threshold when you close up the coffee shop, locking the door behind you. When you turn to begin down the street for home and the comfort of your warm bed—you almost trip over your own two feet yet again.

Except, this time, it’s not by your own fault that you almost trip. Underfoot, the darkness of the night moves just as you stumble to catch yourself, and you startle in surprise. But then, a familiar pair of amber eyes turn and meet yours—and as your eyes adjust to the blackness, you recognize the outline of a little black cat.

“Kitty?” You wonder, surprise lacing your voice. The cat, as if replying, lets out something akin to a meow and an indignant sigh, as if to ask, _How dare you trip over me?_

The indignant meow-sigh-huff combo makes you smile, letting out a small laugh under your breath. Yes, it’s definitely your cat friend. But why is the cat so far from the fields at the outskirts of town, away from the maple tree? How did it wander so far? You’d always assumed the cat to be a farm cat, since you’d never seen it among the streets like this—which had you worry the feline may have wandered too far from home to find its way back. At night, nonetheless.

Crouching down, you reach out a hand to the cat, back of your hand facing the feline. “What are you doing all the way in town like this, kitty?”

As per usual, the cat backs away from your hand with a little jump, before scurrying off into the night. You let out a sigh, watching it meld with the shadows, before pushing yourself back to your feet.

“Okay, fine. I thought we were friends, but whatever. Just try and assist me in breaking my neck and then leave the scene of the almost-crime.” You give your head a shake, before turning away from the coffee shop and making your way home. 

The evening is colder than it has been in the past few nights. As you walk, you snuggle down a little deeper into your coat, surprised by the chill. It’s sharp enough to cut against more sensitive places of your body—like your nose, ears, and cheeks—but not quite deeply cutting in the way that the cold of winter is. This chill doesn’t seep into the depths of your bones and create an ache. It’s just cold enough to make you want to curl up on your couch with a cup of warm tea before bed, but still admire how there’s a warmth to the season overall despite the weather.

It doesn’t take long before a black flash cuts across in front of you. You slow your steps slightly, having set a brisk pace to simply get yourself home quicker, so you weren’t out at night for too long. Your shadowy friend darting back and forth is enough to keep you from walking too fast, though, worried you might trip and fall, and ultimately hurt yourself or the cat. But as you pick your pace up again, the black feline settles into a trot alongside you, weaving close to the walls of the buildings which you walk next to.

“Are you walking me home?” You muse to the cat. “Feel guilty for almost tripping me in the dark?”

You know the cat can’t understand your humor, and likely doesn’t have a conscience enough to feel guilty about such a thing, but it feels nice to talk to someone as you walk. Again—you seek comfort in the feline companion for the fact that you can voice your thoughts aloud, without expecting a reply. It’s also nice to have company on your walk home. Despite the small town being safe, and the streetlamps lighting the way, walking alone at night was an uncomfortable event. Having grown up in the city, you’d been taught to never wander the streets alone at night. It was strange to do so here.

“Lee Juyeon, the warlock that I’ve told you about, came in to work again today. I didn’t spill his order all over him today,” you smile, glancing at the little black shadow that meanders next to you. “You should be proud of me.”

Slowing your pace, you come to a halt. “Do you ever wonder why people treat him differently?” You ask the cat. For a moment, you think, before sighing, “Wait, you probably don’t even know. You’re a cat, after all. How would you realize that he’s being treated differently just because he can practice magic. Heck, you probably don’t even know who Juyeon is.”

Or, maybe the cat did, considering you’d seen Juyeon feed the neighborhood strays outside the coffee shop before.

The thought has you pulling your eyes back to your cat companion. Ahead of you, the animal pulls itself away from the wall and sidles its way into the center of the street. It keeps walking, which prompts you to resume your pace in order to catch up to the cat. 

“Anyway, he does magic. A warlock. In the city, witches and warlocks are common. Magic is a lot more accepted where I come from, even though there are rules and restrictions to practicing in order to keep non-magic users safe. Maybe that’s why rural areas and small towns don’t like it, there’s no one to really keep watch and create rules,” you sigh, then wonder why the heck you’re explaining this to a cat. “But still, he’s just simply a human. My coworker doesn’t even want to breathe the same air as him. Isn’t that ridiculous…?”

Much like you do under the maple tree, you ramble to the cat as though it were any other day. It feels kind of nice to have the cat’s company and be able to walk home with someone, even if that _someone_ weren’t quite human. Though you might appear strange to anyone else who might see you chatting into the darkness, you aren’t alone that night—a comfort which you appreciate not only because it’s dark, but also after such a long and grueling day. It allows you to keep your mind away from the dreadful thoughts you might have. Talking to the cat had also become a routine, and though you hadn’t been able to dwell much on the idea of missing out on the almost-daily routine thanks to how busy the coffee shop had gotten in the afternoon, you realize now what it means.

As you near the corner of your street, the cat slows down just ahead of you, sensing a change in your demeanor. Your stomach growls just as you’re about to round the corner the cat is stopped at, causing you to glance down in surprise. Then, you glance at the feline, before lifting your gaze up to glance over your shoulder. Just across the street, lighting up the entire corner—something you’d always been grateful for, living alone—sits a little 24-Hour corner shop. You have food at home that you can heat up quickly, but you remember that your cat friend has wandered into town from the farms, and possibly hasn’t eaten. There’s probably an abundance of mice to catch, if the cat were to look well enough, but you feel guilty after realizing how far the animal had followed you.

And, unfortunately, it wasn’t likely with your current track record that the cat would want to join you inside for the night.

“Wait here,” you instruct the cat, not even sure if it’ll listen. You dart across the street and push your way into the warmth of the little corner shop. The attendant startles in surprise at your entrance, having not expected a customer so late on a fairly chilly night, most likely.

“Do you have cat food?” You ask, and the bleary-eyed boy behind the counter points off in a corner of the shop. You follow his direction to the aisle he points out, wandering down and eyeing the shelves lined with canned and bagged food and treats for all different kinds of pets. You pick out a can of shrimp flavored canned food, remembering that the cat you’d grown up with at home had enjoyed shrimp-flavored things, before heading back to the front of the store to pay for it.

Surprisingly enough, the black cat is there waiting for you as you exit the store—still across the street. You smile, as you near, watching as the cat’s tail tip flicks where it's curled on the ground, rustling a leaf just within reach. Each time its tail does so, causing the leaf to move, the silly little cat swipes at the leaf—and its own tail. And each time, the cat looks offended as it pulls its paw back.

“I have food,” you announce your presence to the cat, so as not to startle it too much out of its little game. As you near, you pull open the can lid, bending down and setting the can on the ground. Knowing the cat will run if you extend your hand, you slowly inch the can forward with your finger tips, watching as the cat slowly inches itself back on its butt in surprise. When your hand returns to yourself, the cat stares at the opened can of food, before bending over just enough to strain its neck to reach out and sniff.

With a sharp flick of its tail, it huffs and turns, trotting off into the darkness.

Your jaw falls open in surprise. “Wow! Rude! That was two dollars!”

Frowning, you glance back at the can of food, then up again where the cat disappeared into the night. Either the cat was extremely spoiled and _wasn’t_ actually a farm cat as you’d thought, feasting on mice—or the animal just wasn’t hungry. Somehow you doubted the latter, as it seemed like quite a journey from the edge of town to your place for a little four-legged creature. Surely any animal would be just a bit hungry after wandering around for hours, right?

Straightening yourself up, you call out into the darkness, “I’m leaving this here, then—in case you change your mind!” But your words are met with silence, and there isn’t even the breeze of the autumn wind whistling through the trees to fill the void of the night.

Parting ways with the darkness and its feline voidling, you finally round the corner and head the last few feet up the street to the warmth of your home.

* * *

When you wake the next morning, there’s not an immediate rush through your morning. You don’t work until a bit later in the afternoon. This means you’re able to sleep in, enjoy the warmth and comfort of your bed and burrow yourself further down under the duvet as the morning light streams through the curtains, casting even more warmth over you as it filters through the glass window. When it comes time to finally pull yourself out of bed, you shower and brush your teeth, brew a pot of coffee for yourself, and set to work at your laptop for a couple hours to get some writing out.

It’s at this time that a repeated rapping catches your attention, and when you glance up from your laptop—pulling your eyes away from the white light of the screen and squinting—you’re surprised to see a black shadow at your window, two amber eyes peering through a frame of the glass intently.

“What the—? Kitty?”

Hearing your voice, the cat stands up from crouching on the sill, butting its body against the window and letting out a loud meow. You’re fairly certain this is the first time the cat has answered you in such a blatantly obvious tone, which has you excitedly pushing yourself to your feet and rushing over to the window. In the entire time it takes you to cross your bedroom to the window, the cat continues to meow, pacing back and forth along the sill and butting itself against the glass. The cat’s tail curls, waving about languidly.

“Good morning,” you greet, pulling the window up and open for your friend. “What are you doing here? Did you sleep outside on the street last night?”

With more room on the window sill, the cat sits, pointedly fixating its gaze on you. Curiously, you present the back of your hand to the cat, holding it up between the two of you. This is the closest you’ve ever been to the creature, but that doesn’t mean you’re quite out of the woods just yet.

It takes everything within you, though, to hold back the gasp of surprise when the cat leans forward just a bit to sniff you, cold nose pressing against the back of your hand and whiskers grazing across your skin.

“Can I pet you?” You wonder, turning your hand over slowly and reaching behind the cat—but, as fickle as ever, the cat lets out another meow and turns before you can even so much as put your hand onto its fur, dropping down from the window sill. The most touch you get from the interaction is its tail swiping your arm as it turns and jumps down—which, honestly, still leaves you grinning after the cat.

“Wait there again,” you instruct the cat, closing the window. Not waiting for an answer from the feline, who seems a bit chatty that morning, you make your way out of your bedroom—pausing momentarily to grab your coffee mug—before heading to the kitchen. You wonder if the cat is hungry, mentally noting you don’t have cat food, which is why you had bought it last night, before reminding yourself that it didn’t seem to like the canned food anyway.

_Fish?_ No, you’d have to go to the market for that. If you ate fish, you typically cooked it immediately rather than let it sit in your freezer. What else could cats eat? “Chicken…?” You wonder aloud, opening your fridge and eyeing the leftover container of some grilled chicken you’d had the night before.

“It’s a bird, cats like bird meat.” Giving yourself a small shrug, you pull the container from the fridge and open it. It takes a few moments to shred it down to something a bit more manageable to chew with your fingers, before you pop it in the microwave to nuke it a bit. You didn’t mind cold chicken, but assuming the cat had spent the night outside, you figure a little warmth in its belly would be nice.

As though sensing your intentions, when you open the front door, the black cat is sitting expectantly on the porch, staring up at the door. Its tail swipes across the wood deck lazily, seemingly unbothered by having had to wait.

“It’s not much, since I don’t really know what to feed a cat that’s okay and I don’t keep cat food… not that you appreciated it last night…” You scoff, before setting down the container on the porch in front of the cat. “But here’s some breakfast for you. Or brunch now, I suppose.”

_This_ food smells much more interesting than the canned cat food, and the feline doesn’t hesitate to step forward and crouch down in front of the leftover container, immediately gobbling up the grilled chicken you’d shredded. You smile, watching with relief as the animal eats. You really weren’t sure at this point if the cat was a farmcat after all, a stray, or simply a spoiled wanderer—but not knowing where the animal had been overnight, and seeing it eat now after refusing food last night put your mind at ease.

You watch the cat eat in silence, making yourself comfortable and sitting back against the doorframe of your open front door. Every now and again, you sip your coffee, glance up at the street and off into the distance where you can see the rolling hills of the countryside, before looking back down at the cat. When your feline friend finishes its meal, it lays back on your porch, grooming itself in content—then moving off to a warm patch of sun and curling into a ball on your deck. Deciding you don’t want to waste this precious moment, you clean up the container before grabbing your laptop, and setting up shop on the deck for a few more hours before work, writing alongside the silent company of your tiny visitor.

“Okay, I have to go to work,” you announce after a few hours have passed, not entirely sure why you’re detailing this to the cat. If it really was a stray, it would probably remove itself from your company whenever. Or, you’d return home after work to it having disappeared again. The thought made you wistful—maybe even a bit sad. This had been the first you’d ever had the cat’s extended company and attention for, and you were growing quite used to it.

To your surprise, when it actually is time to leave for work, the cat begins to follow you after you’ve closed and locked up your little house. You let out an amused half smile, watching as the cat follows alongside you. “What, are you my chauffeur now?”

The walk to work that day is infinitely more amusing than all the other times you’d walked the same path. You don’t have much to ramble to your companion about that day, though you do mention that you wonder if Juyeon will pop in at the coffee shop in the afternoon. Typically, he was a morning coffee person, but you’d seen him stop by in the evenings once in a while. Instead of talking as you walk, though, you watch as the cat darts ahead of you every once in a while—chasing a stray leaf on the breeze and pouncing after it down the street until it lies motionless on the ground. Sometimes, the cat lags behind, and you find yourself glancing over your shoulder to see what curiosities it's getting itself into—jumping on a fence to tease a dog, sniffing around at certain things on the path, or slinking down close to the ground and acting as if it’s hunting nothing in particular, before darting ten feet ahead of you at a run and waiting for you to catch up.

“Don’t stay out here for too long tonight,” you warn the cat, pausing outside the coffee shop. “This street gets busy on weekends, someone might not see you…” You didn’t want to imagine the poor cat getting lost in the crowd. The coffee shop was in the center of a small village shopping square, and on weekend evenings it filled up with families and others sharing date nights and evening events together. You frown, wondering if the cat will listen, before giving the animal a small little wave and heading inside.

When you set to work, you can’t help but find yourself glancing out the window periodically—taking mental stock of the cat through your shift. Each time you go to clean a table, you peer out the window and see the cat either peering right back in at your, or napping somewhere nearby. Every time you call out someone’s order, you push yourself onto your tiptoes to glance over the customer’s shoulder as they near, mentally noting every spot the little black shape outside moves to. If a new customer enters the shop, you greet them and take their order, and before the transaction finishes you ask in a quiet voice if there’s a cat outside still—relieved when a customer confirms they’d seen one lounging about.

Halfway through your shift, your cat friend disappears from the view of the window, and a small panic sets in. You notice as you’re taking an order for a couple of guests, two people who can’t seem to settle on their decision and keep talking over each other as they tell you what they want. They aren’t the type of people to inquire about the cat outside, especially since it seems as though they’ve popped into the coffee shop for an afternoon pick-me-up to help settle some of their irritation. Yet as you speak with them, and punch in their order, you can’t help your eyes darting off to the side now and again to try and peek around them and out the window.

“Can you take over the register for a bit?” You ask of your coworker almost as soon as the two chatty, indecisive guests walk away. You don’t wait for them to reply—considering they always drop the same on you without warning. It’s rare of you to return the “favor,” but you don’t feel guilty doing so.

As you move around the counter, you grab a tray and a cleaning rag in order to clean some tables, eyes never leaving the window as you do so.

“Was that your cat? The one outside?” Your coworker asks, scoffing. “Should take better care of it.”

You scowl, eyes snapping back to your coworker, who shrinks in surprise at the ferocity of your gaze. “No it’s _not_. It’s a stray that followed me, and I’m worried.” As you turn away from them, you grumble under your breath, “You have a nasty habit of assuming the worst of people.”

As you near the window, searching for the black furry shadow outside, your eyes are so fixated you barely register the door of the shop opening and the lackluster greeting being called out by your coworker. In fact, you’re so out of it that, as you move, you practically stumble straight into a wall of body that had just entered the shop. You stumble back in surprise, realizing that you’ve almost walked straight into a customer, glancing up to apologize—and blanching when you realize it’s Juyeon.

“S-sorry!”

Juyeon smiles in greeting. “It’s fine,” he answers, before glancing over his shoulder outside, then back down at you. “Are you okay?”

“I— yeah… I just—” You frown. “Nevermind, it’s nothing. What can I get for you today?” Sparing one last glance at the window, you move back toward the counter, eyeing your coworker as they move away and disappear, refusing as always to take the young warlock’s order.

“Can I sit at the bartop today?” Juyeon asks, trailing after you. You glance over your shoulder at him in surprise, before nodding.

“Let me take your order and then you can take a seat.”

“I’d like a mochachino today.”

You punch in the order, looking at him in surprise. “Chocolate?”

Juyeon smiles that soft smile that always seems to leave you winded and out of breath. “Craving something sweet, but I’ve got some work to do, so I need something that will keep me awake, too.”

You nod, letting out a hum of understanding from the back of your throat. When you read the total off to him, Juyeon pays the appropriate amount, and you wave him to the bartop just to the left of the cash register. His presence at the bartop is almost certain to keep your coworker from ever returning to the front of house, so you silently hope that no sudden rush comes through the cafe as you set to work making his drink.

“Why did you seem so distracted when I came in earlier?” Juyeon asks, tone of voice idle. You glance over your shoulder, away from the espresso machine, in surprise when he speaks. Had he always been this chatty? Although, to be fair, Juyeon always came in during the morning rushes and you never had a chance to actually talk to him.

You aren’t sure what really catches you by surprise—the fact that he’s making conversation with you, or the fact that his deep voice has caused your heart to begin a rapid and stuttering beat in your chest. Yet, somehow, despite your nervousness to be talking to a young man you’d always admired from your own little corner of the coffee shop, and how he gazed out the window and watched the world in silent content and admiration, and offered up sweet and soft smiles to everyone around him—his voice also fills you with a warmth that’s almost soothing. Like the familiar smell of the coffee grounds that waft through the shop daily, then later cling to the strands of your hair when you get home. It feels _familiar_.

“Are you really okay?” He asks, prompting again.

“I’m fine. I was just worried… there was a cat outside. It followed me to and from work yesterday and today, and now that it’s getting busy I’m wondering where it went off to and if it’s okay. I feel responsible even though it might be a stray that just followed me for its own amusement,” you explain as you work.

When you finish Juyeon’s order, you turn and set it on the counter in front of him. He smiles, as always, and takes it with a polite and soft thank you, before leveling you with his gaze.

When his eyes land on you, almost instantly you feel your heart seize up in your chest. You’ve never been this close to Juyeon before—never actually gotten a good look at him up close. His features from afar are stunning; he’s handsome in a very simple way that’s easy on the eyes. But up close, it’s almost as if he’s crafted from marble. You’ve never had a chance to admire his sharp features; study the lines of his jaw and his high-placed cheekbones, notice the square shape of his earlobes, or admire his long and straight nose or the way his lips curl upward slightly at the corners.

“Cats are street smart, you know. I’m sure your little stray friend is fine. They probably know these streets better than the both of us,” Juyeon replies, “And luckily for them, people in this town are a little kinder to stray cats than _other_ types of strays.”

It’s then that you meet his gaze, catching on to a deeper implication of his words—studying his almond-shaped brown eyes and taking note of the curious amber flecks that hit the warm yellow light of the cafe _just right._

“No way,” you breathe out.

Juyeon smiles—and this time, his smile isn’t the usual soft and kind one, but one that pushes his cheeks up in a way that causes his eyes to smile along with the rest of his face. He seems much too amused by the realization setting across your face, followed by a flush that follows soon after. You’d _ranted_ and _rambled_ about Lee Juyeon _to Lee Juyeon_ —albeit not the human one.

You’d heard that some witches and warlocks could shapeshift, and that others had familiars. Never once in your life did you think you’d somehow be on the receiving end of that gift. Of course, it made sense, considering the treatment around town that Juyeon often received—that he’d either hide in another form or test the honesty of those he interacted with in a different form.

Juyeon lifts his coffee cup to his lips, smiling over the rim. “Can I walk you home tonight? Perhaps this time _not_ as a cat? I’d love to hear you regale one of your lavish tales of me.”


End file.
